Clattering Brass
by An Unassuming Man
Summary: A prodigious young marksman comes to New Meridian as an initiate to the Black Egrets. However, little of his encounters will be as simple as hitting the mark. I'm not even going to try to list all the characters. The storyline is an amalgam of most of the protagonists'. Enjoy, don't forget to leave feedback!
1. Chapter 1

The rhythmic puffing of the steam engine and the blowing of wind provided white noise to a constantly-shifting scene outside the train car's windows.

_Hurry up and wait._ I smiled snidely. _It really is the Army way._

The train was headed northeast, and a long ride it would be. I was leaving the semiarid rolling hills of my home headed to a place I'd never seen before, but I'd heard many things about.

My father had told me there was nothing like the first time you saw the massive sprawl of New Meridian in the distance, but it would be awhile until that sight would appear. The train was traveling halfway across the Canopy Kingdom, after all, which would take almost 54 hours.

I'd signed up for the Canopian military at the ripe old age of 18. My father was away in the Grand War until I was 11, but the last 7 years were interesting.

When my dad left, I was quite young and was left in a house full of things with a very busy mother. The dear woman had to hold down the ranch with the meager net earnings from paying ranch hands while I was too young to do it, and hadn't the time to teach me when I was. This naturally led me to being left to my own devices most of the time. I learned a lot of things by reading, and a lot of things by doing. I had a passion for books, especially informative ones, and I couldn't get enough to read. Sometimes the ranch hand would leave worn out parts of machines somewhere within my realm, and I would take them apart, study them.

My father. He was a companionable person, very friendly and easy to get along with. Part of a marksman unit and a lifelong rancher, my old man returned a tired but decorated soldier. He was eager to teach me all of the things he'd missed as a father, and I was a little maladjusted to being part of a tight family unit, but I can easily say I love my family. Now it was me, my parents, and three siblings. I was the oldest of my siblings, with a 12 year age gap between me and the second-eldest, a sister, for obvious reasons. But those years I spent in my youth were likely an integral part in my personality development.

Cold, quiet, calculating. Most common way I was described, and not very wrong. I wasn't a sugary and easily moved person by nature, and kept my emotions under control. Sentimentality that barred the way of efficiency didn't appeal to me. However, people didn't seem to get it. I wasn't amoral, and nor was I a robot. Introversion was for sure a defining characteristic. Of all intellectual endeavors, understanding the people I shared the world with was and is the biggest challenge I face. People are an enigma...

I shook my head, retrieving the derailed thought train and setting it back on the tracks with the real one. I thought about one moment that very probably has changed my entire life. I joined the military for the experience and to serve the nation, but it was going to be a step in the pathway of my life, not a lifetime profession. And now...

After Basic Training was over, we had all been given the relevant documents on our upcoming advanced training. During recruitment, I had thought about engineering, but that was quite a dangerous field and was more about demo and logistics than unique strategic construction opportunities. I instead went with a skill of mine, putting it to the test. I signed up to be a sniper. The necessary skills for the selected route were benchmarked and recorded in order to evaluate what unit an individual would be placed in. I had taken up shooting as a relaxing and challenging hobby after my father had returned home, and I'd often be out a-firing until the old man would chastise me by saying we could make instruments from all the brass. An odd, obsessive sort of hobby, you may say, but it paid off. My skills were well above par… and it seemed people noticed.

Back to that transcript I got after boot camp.

I still couldn't believe what it said.

I pulled it out again.

_Name: ADAMS, ALEXANDER_

_Rank: SPECIALIST_

_Age: 18_

_Height: 6' 0"_

_Eye Color: BLUE_

_Hair Color: BROWN_

_Specialization: Marksmanship_

_AIT Unit: Black Egrets_

_Note: Selected for individual training and mentorship under Black Egret Marksman Team for displaying exemplary marksmanship ability. Will proceed to active duty after training is complete._

I shook my head. _Egrets._ I was barely of legal enlistment age and I was headed to the most elite group of soldiers in the kingdom. An exciting prospect, but a daunting one. _How could I prepare for this?_

It would assuredly be a long train ride.

* * *

It was night yet again when we were finally nearing the city. I thought I would never get off this damned train. After irritably shifting around for an indeterminate period of time, I saw the lights of the metropolis.

My father was right.

The city was absolutely immense. Huge towers stood far above the ground, making the walls surrounding them look like rocks next to a tree. The lights glittered and shone in the distance, creating a surreal effect. I began getting ready to disembark.

The train hissed as it passed through the tunnel in the wall, slowing to a stop at the train station. The density of people outside was like that of fish in an ocean.

The train doors opened, and the flood began. I was immediately confronted with an uneasiness from the sheer number of people about. Training took over, and I subconsciously scanned the crowd. It seemed that most people were piling _into _the train than leaving it, which seemed odd. I couldn't make anything of it, since there didn't seem to be anything obvious going on. I did see several other standard-issue ACU's in the crowd, which I could assume were other initiates. When I was told what unit I would serve under, I didn't even get a period of leave between the end of Basic and being shipped up here to New Meridian; I wasn't told why, but was assured my family would be notified and that all the arrangements for my relocation would be made.

The uniformed individuals clumped up, forming an island in the sea of people. I made my way over to the group. I wasn't told how I was supposed to get to the barracks from inside the city, and that would be a problem…

I stepped to the edge of the group, silently. The group consisted of an older, surly-looking, stocky man who was probably a seasoned soldier who caught wind of me, a seemingly unremarkable male with nothing I could see immediately, and a woman of average form in her early thirties who appeared to be a radio operator.

"You an initiate too?" The older man barked matter-of-factly. He seemed the type who was very accustomed to the battlefield.

"Yes," I replied simply. Despite the immediate camaraderie I wasn't exactly warm to people I had just met. The woman turned to me and smiled. She appeared to be my polar opposite-a personable, breezy type.

"Hello! We were wondering where the barracks are. None of us have been to the city before. Could you help us out?"

"I don't know either," I replied. The obvious solution belatedly bubbled up into my mind. "We should probably buy city maps."

"Good idea." The quiet fellow spoke up. It wasn't a lead for the woman to reply to.

"Great. Hey, where did you all get assigned to?" She still wanted to make conversation.

"Infantry," the older man answered. "Served in the war. Now I'm gettin' called up to the big leagues." He chuckled, and turned to look at me.

"You look awful young to be here, kid. What's your age and why're you here?" It was a legitimate question and the tone wasn't accusing, so I figured I'd answer nicely.

"I am 18… and I've been assigned to the Marksman Team." A small smirk lifted the corner of my mouth, despite myself. He looked up.

"You must be a damn good shot then. Don't think I'd want to be downrange of someone who got to the top this young." He smiled openly, which I could easily tell was a big compliment from this man.

"Thanks," I said, shrinking a little. I wasn't one to brag and didn't respond regularly to compliments. I didn't really know what to do when someone gave me high praise other than try to play it off.

The woman continued to talk the group up. "And you, sir?" She was talking to the other man, who was even quieter than I, and seemed a little… off, somehow.

"Demolition." The quiet man replied, a mildly unsettling smile crossing his features. I should have known. It's always the little bit odd ones in demo.

"Alright, the arrival time is tomorrow at 9:00, so I guess I'll see you all then." I provided my line for leaving the group of acquaintances, and said a goodbye or two. _Back to business._

_First of all, I need a map. Second, some food. I'm ravenous. Third, a place to sleep._

In a stroke of luck, there was an information center that I had managed to find after some mostly aimless wandering. I bought a map from the kiosk and inspected it. I could use it to get close to the castle, where I could poke around for a bit until I figured out where I was supposed to go.

Now, about that hunger…

* * *

Stepping out into the streets of New Meridian presented me with the biggest buildings I had ever seen, all lined up along the sidewalks, which were bathed with a multitude of colorful lights. This marked my dizzying entrance into what was by orders of magnitude the largest city I entered. It was awe-inspiring, but what unsettled me was the utter lack of people on these roads. Even at night, a city street like this should be buzzing with activity. The question was, where was everyone? This was the crown jewel of the Canopy Kingdom, and yet this street, right outside the train depot, seemed like a ghost town. Some of the buildings were boarded up, decrepit…

After a while of wandering the creepily quiet streets to find some restaurant open at midnight, I stumbled upon a small soda fountain that was open. I stepped inside the small building, a bell signaling my entrance, and did a visual pass of the cafe.

The patrons were few. The only I could see consisted of a couple, and a pretty young schoolgirl with long, black hair in a too-small uniform, whose eyes flicked upward to see who walked in, and looked away again-too quickly, I noted. _Hang on-were her eyes red?_ I sat down at one of the barstools a couple of seats down from the girl. A waiter came over and gave me a menu, which I absorbed myself in.

"Well, well, well, what have we here? What do you say I buy you a real drink, sister?" I turned to see a man, probably in his late twenties, approach the girl. A twinge of disgust ran through me. _Dude. She's like, half your age. Creep._ I watched now, like a hawk. I had a younger sister, after all, and the defensive older brother was awoken.

A muffled masculine voice came from the general location of the girl. "_We've already got a drink, thanks."_

_So that's most definitely not her voice. Who said that? And… we?_

"Uh, that's quite the deep voice you have there, little lady. But it's cool."

To my complete disgust, the man began to _feel her up_.

_That's it._

"Excuse me, but doesn't she seem a little young for you?" My voice was mostly polite, with a slight inflection of passive-aggression, and my mouth formed a thin line. My eyes had no such facade, and held glints of molten steel_._

"Now, you can never tell. She looks old enough to me," the man said. My blood began to boil, but the guy backed off. _Creep._

The girl now shot me a quick, blushing "thank you", which I wasn't quite sure I understood the sheepishness in. _Her eyes_ _**are **__red._ I nodded slightly, and turned back to my menu. The rest of my meal passed without any events, and wondering how one has red eyes.

It took place after I'd paid my bill. The waiter returned with my cash, which I took and thanked him for without turning to look at him.

The young girl had just left the cafe, and I saw him again. The guy approached her again. I stood up, and walked briskly for the door, still pocketing my cash. _Nope._

As soon as I stepped out of the door, I heard the same muffled voice again.

"_That's it! You could have left her alone!"_

Suddenly, the hat the girl was wearing was catapulted into the air, and the hair began to take on a form. It was a pair of eyes and opposite rows of sharp teeth, clearly expressing anger at the sleazy man.

"_A parasite?!" _I heard him yell. The strands all struck him, sending him flying. He landed on the street in a startled, breathless heap. I stood there, blinking, trying to process the events that had just unfolded.

_Parasite?_ The girl's hair had taken on a shape only describable as that of a pair of wreaths. She spoke to the creature in her hair in an exasperated fashion with a soft, feminine voice while looking about to see if anyone had seen the event take place.

"Samson, you've got to stop doing… that." She saw me, and she looked like she had been caught stealing bars of gold.

Awkward tension pulled the air as taut as a tug-of-war rope.

"Oh hey, it's that guy," the creature, Samson, presumably, said, extremely nonchalantly. _There's the source of the voice..._

I said nothing.

"Umm… well… I guess there's no chance of a normal introduction..." The girl looked down, pandering a bit. It seemed she was quite embarrassed.

Looking up again and pulling together the words, she addressed me proper. "Well, my name is Filia…" She then looked up at her hairline, expression becoming clearly unamused. "...and this is Samson."

"Hi," I said, expression still flat. I didn't know what else to say.

Again, Samson, who I had already determined was Filia's complete opposite, broke the silence again.

"Yeah, hi, that's great and all. Anyway, thanks for standing up for my girl here. Guy was a total creep." Samson addressed me. Without the hat, the _parasite_ was fairly obvious.

"Yeah... No problem." I responded simply. She didn't remind me of my sister anymore. I scratched the back of my head, trying to figure out something I could say as Filia came to a more natural speaking distance. The height disparity still made this a little odd, as I was still the better half of a foot taller than her.

The obvious thing to say was here.

"My name is Alexander."

She smiled a little, and I had to come up with some speaking point now to keep this from dissolving into something even more awkward than it was.

"So… how do parasites work, exactly? I've heard of them, but never looked into them much..."

To my luck, the conversation managed to last until I found a walk-up hotel nearby.

* * *

"Thanks for not being freaked out and everything. You're really understanding," Filia said, beaming. I was yet again left in a position where I was supposed to respond to praise.

Honest deadpanning was a skill of mine and really the only thing I could do. "It's nothing… really. No big deal. Might even say it was…interesting."

Samson grumpily stayed quiet. The statement did have some unintended jabs at him.

"Yeah? A lot of people would have called me a freak..." She frowned, looking away.

"Why's that? It's not like Samson makes you any different."

I stayed quiet. Samson didn't. "Hey, don't give a damn about what they think. You know you're still a person, and I'm not a bad guy, right?"

"Yeah, Samson," she said, reaffirming her constant companion. _It must be odd to constantly be attached to another entity._

I reached the door to the hotel. "So, uh, I guess I'll... see you around?" A smile and a blush swept across her face.

"Yeah, sure," I answered. "See you later."

Somehow, we went the whole way without learning anything about each other, but talking about Samson and the concept of "parasitism", which was probably inaccurate-it seemed like mutualism, in a way, but…

Something nagged at me, about the events that took place, everything that had happened.

"Okay… 'Bye," she said. I waved, making my way inside, wondering if I saw the slight shift to a frown as I turned away. The question struck me, but she had already left by the time I thought to ask about why she was out so late.


	2. Chapter 2

That night I spent in the hotel room was one in which I didn't get much sleep. It was partly because was analyzing the odd behavior of Filia and partly because I was involuntarily spinning theories of what would happen tomorrow. About the girl... It seemed like she wasn't exactly the social butterfly and seemed to have genuinely enjoyed talking to me about factual matters, like "parasitism". Either there was a common lack of social skills, or she was so preoccupied with her embarrassment she wasn't on her usual footing. Also, she may simply have been off-put bt some of my behavior. That much was quite possible. I tried to be friendly, but my knowledge of social graces are not extensive and it's fully possible that I was somehow unintentionally injuring her. I needed to make amends somehow, but I'd have to figure out which of these hypothesis was correct.

I woke up the next morning on Basic schedule, at 6:00 in the morning and not at all prepared for the day. I rubbed the sleep out of my eyes and took care of all the things I had neglected to do last night-shower, shave, inspect the decency of my BDU, and the like. I had to report to Egret headquarters at 9:00, and I had better be ready. Now it was time for some coffee and a bite to eat... _but..._

Stepping out of the hotel, a sneaking suspicion hit me that allowed most of the puzzle pieces to fall into place...

Was Filia homeless?

I wondered. There was an alley on the edge of the street here, and even though it was statistically unlikely to provide me with any answer, I looked anyway. I turned the corner and scanned the wall, checking along its length.

Despite the odds, it appeared the girl had stayed over night. There was Filia, asleep, hair covering her face and a ratty looking blanket the rest of her body. It was both saddening for the dumpiness of it all, but she looked a little... cute, I had to say. Pity bubbled up to the surface. I moved closer to the girl and knelt down, gently shaking her shoulder. "Filia?"

She stirred a little, then jolted awake, Samson evidently being just as surprised as she was. "Oh… it's you…" She blushed again. She blushed a lot.

"I'm… sorry you had to see me like this," she said, frowning. "I… I have a home… probably… somewhere, I just don't… I don't…" As her slowly congealing thoughts continued, something was changing. Her voice was rising, and she seemed more panicked by the second. It would probably be a good idea to say something to calm her now, but I couldn't think of anything so quickly. "I woke up one day and Samson was there, and I didn't know-" She choked on a sob, and a tear broke loose. "I should go!" She jumped to her feet and started to run, where, I had no idea. _Too late, _I chastised myself. She briefly turned her head to look at me before disappearing around the corner of the alleyway, catching a look of confusion and maybe a bit of upset.

_I'm so confused… _

Ugh. People were so impossible to understand sometimes.

* * *

After that little fiasco, I found a coffee shop and got a nice cup of caffeine and some toast, proceeding to settle down and a table, brooding. My failed attempt at trying to converse with the poor girl had failed, and I had absolutely no idea why. The girl's distress bothered me some, and I was stuck in a worse position than I had been before.

Back to business. I pulled out the map and found out where I was in the city by using the street signs, and roughly where I needed to go. The heart of the city held the the royal complex and that was my destination. I finished up my meager breakfast and headed off to the city center.

* * *

The old castle walls were an awesome sight from up close. The massive stone walls and turrets surrounded the innermost portion of the city, and stuck out like an anachronistic sore thumb in the sprawl of New Meridian. I had no idea where I was supposed to go, so I figured I may be able to ask a guard at the main gate.

Skirting about the wall for a bit brought me to a huge portcullis that formed the gate to the heart of the city. Turns out, there were two Egrets on guard. This seemed like an idiotic way to ask for help, but I had no better option. I faced one of the guards.

"Excuse me… do you know where I'm supposed to go?" I opened my wallet, exposing my preliminary ID. One of them took it and inspected it momentarily, before giving it back to me.

"Come with me," the Egret said, voice muffled by his helmet. I complied.

The guardsman escorted me through a side door on the castle wall beneath the gatehouse, leading me into the inside of the wall. The whole interior appeared to be organized around a large central park, with a variety of plants. The grand manor of this town-not truly the palace, as the capital was in Canopolis-sat atop a small hill in the back. I'd seen this place a couple of times over the television my father had bought, but seeing it first had was something special, especially considering my duties would now consist of protecting the woman who lived… well, in Canopolis. I found it rather strange that the Egrets were currently headquartered here. Perhaps it had something to do with the very strange state of the city at the moment.

The rest of the complex appeared to consist of several wings linked to the main building by long covered walkways, the function of each I would probably learn in the future. The diameter of the whole thing was probably five eighths of a mile, which meant everything fit with a little extra space, giving the appearance of an estate in the middle of the city.***

I continued to follow the man to what seemed to be yet another set of stone walls, immediately to my left of the manor. I could only assume this was the Egret compound…

A brief period of walking led us to the edge of the wall. The entrance into was simple enough-steel doors recessed into a stone alcove-but I had not the slightest of ideas as to what lay behind them. Despite myself, a pang of excitement and anxiety ran through me. _Calm down… it's just a wall._

But it wasn't just a building.

The doors were manned by another two guards, who opened them upon seeing their fellow approach. I stepped through them, and into the Egret complex.

I saw in front of me a dense cluster of buildings, all several stories tall. Deja-vu swept over me for a moment, experiencing similar thoughts and assertions as to when I stepped through the gate onto the manor grounds.

As we made our way forward, we were obviously heading for a large, city-hall type building in the middle of the others, which all looked vaguely similar. All in all, this whole area seemed _smaller _than the military base I had recently departed from. It made sense, however; this was a small group of soldiers. However, the age of the stone buildings and the general lack of prefab was unfamiliar and seemed like a medieval stronghold. Although charming in a way, I was somewhat concerned about the quality of the facilities.

The doors to the hall were very similar to the outer doors of the complex, which parted for us in the same manner. I found myself in a small antechamber, headed for a room in the back. I opened the doors to find a small conference room with a long, dark stained wooden table. The back of the room was a wall draped with the flag of the Canopy Kingdom, and the walls were paneled with wood of a lighter color. In general, the room had a simple elegance about it.

I was told to seat myself, which I did, taking the end seat. I had about a thirty minute wait ahead of me, which probably wouldn't do excellently for my nerves. There was obviously going to be a speaker, and it would probably be our CO-and we weren't given some ceremony where we would just be sitting pretty in a crowd. There was no opportunity to fix a first impression, and with an elite organization like the Egrets, it paid to make one…

* * *

It was about twenty minutes later when the other initiates arrived. I greeted them absently, too busy spinning scenarios that might occur. I knew from past experience that doing this would be of no use, and there was no telling what would happen, but I did it anyway. There was little else to do, in any case.

Precisely the clock struck time, one of the two doors in the rear of the room opened. A guard had opened it for someone. The quiet chatting at the table shut down as we all turned and awaited an entrance.

I was not at all prepared for who came through.

Out of the door came the crown princess. Princess Parasoul, of all people. She wore a tight black dress, with long sleeves and a dangerously short skirt. It contrasted strongly with the silver Trinity cross on her chest and the blazing red hair falling over her shoulders. Perhaps the most flooring thing about her was her eyes. Like molten gold, they held power and a regal beauty. The princess turned to survey the candidates before her.

Despite my shell shock, a thought occurred to me as a good idea. I stood up, quickly, and bowed low. The people around me followed suit immediately.

"At ease, at ease, _lady_ and gentlemen." The princess sounded slightly amused, somewhat to my surprise.

We stood up straight, rising from the bows we had taken. I naturally returned my gaze to the princess. An automatic and subconscious assertion told me I was slightly taller than her, but there was definitely no power in that. The aura of authority poured off of her in waves. Secondly, the woman was staggeringly beautiful, and, being male, I couldn't help but drink in all the curves. Forcing my eyes to return to her face-where they should be-her expression was an easy, congenial smile, and it gave the impression that she was glad to be here. However, that was generally the image any royal took when making a public address, _but..._

A short awkward moment passed as she faced us from the end of the table. "Please, do sit down." The amused tone was still there, mixed with a touch of… teasing. As rapidly as we sprung to our feet, the sinking into the chairs was like watching grease slide down a post.

I was sitting at the end of the table opposite her, and she was making eye contact with everyone, like a good speaker, but I couldn't help but get the feeling she was staring right at me. Despite having no reason to, it made me a little skittish.

..._this wasn't a public address._

"Now that we're all settled, how is everyone this morning?"

She was asking the simplest of questions and it caught everyone off guard.

The was a general murmur at the table, and I eked a low "good".

"Alright, alright. No reason to be so traumatized." The teasing was back.

"As I'm sure you all know, I am Parasoul, crown princess, and as of now, your commanding officer."

A jolt passed through us. We all knew her safety was our sole objective, but we had no idea she ran the show. That changed the dynamic of the entire unit…

The princess began pacing back and forth, turning at times to look at us.

"I know you all have heard about the Egrets-the prestige, the exclusivity. It's all true. You may think that your job consists of ensuring my safety. That is, in part, true. But there is a reason only the finest make it in this unit." She paused, leaning on the end of the table and looking directly at me and the veteran to my left with an attention-demanding gaze that could melt steel. _She's a damn good speaker._ "You are anything but simple guards."

"No. I am not the typical princess, or even the typical royal. Some problems can only be solved by doing things yourself. When I go out, I go with you-my best soldiers-doing things other units would not even think of doing. You all were taught how to fight a standing army in basic training, but that won't help you here. In the Egrets, we face the most bizarre, and the most powerful of all enemies. That training will rarely help you. You were selected because of your skills and your experience, and those, your gut, and each other, are the only things you can trust. It's no walk in the park, but I know every one of you has the capability to excel here."

She returned to the middle of the table, standing tall.

"Now, tell me-are you ready to become Egrets?"

I dared. My eyes turned to look straight into the golden flames..

They say the eyes are windows to the soul, and looking into the princess' eyes was like the curtains were burning off of mine. The intensity of the eye contact was on a new level, and I felt very uncomfortable. It was clear I being examined, cover to cover.

Words came again.

"Yes... your highness."

Echos of the statement passed through the crowd. The princess smiled, injecting a short burst of pride, and broke the locked gaze. Calm flooded back, allowing me to regain my composure.

"It won't be easy, and there's no "completion date" for your training. The only real way to get that seal on your uniforms is a little bit of job experience. There's no substitute for the real thing. That's it for now, everyone. You may stand."

Everyone stood up, slowly. Relief slowly crept into my thoughts.

"Now, if I may, I would like to speak with each of you alone."

We froze, like deer in the headlights. The relief was chased away by anxiety again.

"Second Lieutenant Walker, you are first. Have a seat. The rest of you, please wait outside."

The woman sat down, and the other two men and I left the room.

* * *

The door shut behind us, and the shell shock was still wearing off. The seasoned vet and I sat down next to the door, cooling off a little.

"Well," he said, voice gravelly as ever. It seemed he was looking for something to finish his sentence.

"Princess's a real looker, huh?" He punched me on the shoulder. I laughed a little silently in spite of myself, nodding in spite of my appeal to class.

"It'll be a hell of a ride, the next few months," I said. The man's banter helped loosen me up. He reminded me of a few people back home.

"Sure 'nuff." The demo specialist sat silently off to the side, doing something with his hands.

"I never did get your name," I said.

"Sergeant Major Hawkins at your service." He gave a salute, half-jokingly. _Damn, how long has he been in?_

"What'd'you reckon she's gonna talk to us about? Awards, tours of duty?"

"I had'nt got the foggiest a' ideas," I drawled slightly, lapsing deeper into my dialect. It usually worked that way-two people slipped deeper into a manner of speaking if they're similar, and that's exactly what was going on here.

"Well, I guess I'd better shut up and we'll find out, huh?"

"Yeah, guess so."

And so we did. The next few minutes would pass waiting.

The Second Lieutenant was the highest ranking here, with Sgt. Maj. Hawkins in second, leaving me and the sapper in last. Apparently, both of us were members of the E-4 mafia, being specialists, but he went ahead of me.

The initiates who left the room walked past us without saying anything, but Walker smiled warmly and Hawkins gave a thumbs-up. I don't know what kind of service records either of them had under their belts, and especially not Smith, the ironically-named demo, had. It made me a little nervous. Despite my skill set and high non-NCO rank, I had literally no combat experience, and the last thing I wanted to do was have my opportunity to join the Egrets rescinded at my lack of veterancy…

"Specialist Adams," called the princess. I stood up, and walked in, letting out a deep breath.

_Here we go._

I entered the room to find the princess at the end of the table with a seat waiting for me, on her right. I remained standing, for want of being polite.

"Please, sit." I eased into the chair.

"Now, Alexander." I was surprised to hear my first name. "No combat experience, a private rank, and less than two decades in your lifetime."

I tried to avoid wincing. Every worry I had was listed, one after another.

"I take it you're not exactly confident in your record," she half-stated. I nodded painfully.

"Do you know who selects Egret candidates?"

I was probably visibly shaken, and I sincerely doubted she failed to notice. "No, your highness."

The teasing smirk was there again. "Oh, please. That's needlessly formal. 'Ma'am' does perfectly fine by me."

"Yes ma'am."

"Back to the subject. _I_ hand-pick all the candidates."

I heaved an internal sigh of relief, and I'm sure I visibly relaxed. However, the realization was not lost on me. It was probably only a half second before I lifted my head from its downcast angle.

"You… picked me?" I was incredulous.

"Of course. With these numbers?" The princess threw down a file folder onto the table. "A _ninety-nine point five_ percent hit rate on the range at 750 meters? Unheard of."(⊙)

I didn't know what to do with high praise.

I looked down, not saying anything. A short awkwardly proud silence passed.

"However, your lack of combat experience is a legitimate concern. On the other hand, very few initiates have the kind of experience you need to be an Egret straight off, no matter where they've been."

"I can, with one hundred percent confidence, say no one who has ever been on the Marksman Team was an exception. I don't say it to the others, but I believe you have the most difficult job of all of the task forces. _Nothing _is _ever _by the book. Do you know how many soldiers are currently on the team?"

"No ma'am."

"One. Just one. And, I have confidence, that number will soon be two. It won't be easy. Every target will be a unique challenge. But enough talk. Tell me, Specialist Adams, are you ready to join the Egrets?"

I could now more comfortably look into her eyes now.

"Yes ma'am."

The princess stood up, picking up a file with her left hand. I stood as well.

"That's what I like to hear. Here's your dossier and your ID." She extended her right. I completed the handshake. The age-old introduction method reinforced everything I already knew about her-strong, cool-headed, but feminine, and an excellent communicator.

"Thank you," I said.

"You are welcome. Dismissed."

I left the room feeling empowered and ready for the whatever was next.

***: Do you all want me to draw some sketches of stuff like this?

⊙: I picked this record for a number of reasons. Marksmen today (not snipers, which would probably be a more apt name for the unit in the story) can hit a 10cm group at 1000yds 100/100 times, but this is with the advent of better technology in machinery to build rifles and scopes, along with newer rounds. Sticking with the post-war theme of the original story, I figured this would be a reasonable length, as the effective range of most .30-06 rifles in the war was about 600m and the effective range of the .300 Mag in the (Marines) M40 (Remington Model 700) is 900m.


	3. Chapter 3

The period after our official entry into the Egrets consisted of being assigned our quarters and given a handbook for the rules and regulations of living on base, which we were expected to study.

I was more than a little amazed at the living quarters we were granted, especially given the fact the building was a very old one. Built inside the old stone halls, the cookie cutter plywood-and-drywall construction was an oddly charming, and very much appreciated, anachronism. From what we were told, we _each_ had a living area, a _small kitchen_, a _personal bathroom, _and, best of all, a bedroom. It was like owning a 500 square foot apartment that we did not have to pay upkeep on. The old rooms of the stone building were divided up into the most sensible configurations possible, granting nearly all quarters window access, likely to assist in the ventilation of the little rooms and the number of evacuation routes in this improvised compound.

Opening the door revealed that the floor was raised slightly off the ground, and consisted of a simple textile fabric stapled to a wooden box-like platform that provided its height. The lack of loud noise when stepping onto this floor implied it had been insulated with something. This was both somewhat surprising and well-appreciated.

The only thing I saw from the small living area at the front of these quarters was a piece of paper on the counter, proclaiming that any furnishings that went in had to come out when one left the compound for good, unless the next occupant desired them. _Fair enough._

I now explored my generous appropriation of space with some interest, discovering the miniature kitchen contained everything one needed to cook a meal-an electric refrigerator, stove, counter space, and a sink. The plumbing of this place must have been a difficult endeavour, and it would likely be a nightmare to the one maintaining it.

Thinking of the insulation again, I approached a nearby wall, and lightly rapped on it with my knuckles. Fortunately, the wall did not answer back in loud, reverberating tones, which, much to my satisfaction, meant they were also insulated. If the walls were hollow, the privacy would have been as well.

The bathroom, as I discovered it, was somewhat spartan by residential standards, containing a lamp, a small mirror, and three plumbing fixtures-namely, the sink, the toilet, and the shower. However, this was a cause for celebration for "barracks"; one's own place to bathe and perform other functions was something unheard of for military shelters.

I finally entered the bedroom, equipped with a clock and a surprisingly large bed. There was another note on this one, much more informal than the last one, and scrawled by hand.

_IF YOU "MAKE A MESS" IN THESE, YOU'RE WASHING THEM._

_-LAUNDROMAT STAFF_

It took me longer than it should have to get the implication, at which I figured wasn't likely to apply to me anyway, but tried to remember the fact nonetheless. I then checked the small closet that was built into the bedroom, and was surprised to see a uniform hanging there.

It was an Egret battle dress uniform, like the ones the rest of the unit had-but with a grey armband instead of a red one. Another note, official, like the statement on the counter had read, was attached.

_SPECIALIST ADAMS,_

_This is your new uniform. It is to replace your standard Army Combat Uniform immediately and be worn in the same circumstances. There is no red armband on this uniform, as you are not officially a full Egret yet. When you have proven yourself, it will be awarded to you. _

_The rest of your gear is to be fitted by an armorer at further notice. Your dress uniform is in the same place as you found this, and you will be notified when to wear it._

I disrobed, and dressed in the new uniform. It looked strange on me, but so did the ACUs we had worn through basic-at first.

The rest of my day was filled with absorbing the handbook and contemplating the events of the day. Everybody knew the Egrets were more than royal guardsmen, but nobody did know what they actually _did._ Similar things could be said about the princess. Popular opinion stated she wasn't just a blue-blooded bargaining chip, but a steely young woman with both the drive and ability to do whatever she wanted. Like the Egrets, nobody really knew what she did when not tending to royal affairs. I still didn't know more than the populace on either subject, but I supposed I would find out soon…

* * *

Uneasy. Uneventful. These words described that week. Simple, if more comprehensive, run-of-the-mill exams, to ensure our fitness physically and psychologically as elite soldiers. Also, becoming accustomed to the strange and anachronistic, but quaint and storied base. It was easy to tell the feeling of tension was mutual with my fellow inductees. I caught a casual glimpse and exchanged a word or two with the men and woman I met on the train platform, but there was little to be discussed.

The psych exam in particular distressed me. I was a fresh recruit picked for raw talent. I didn't have the mental fortitude of the many others in this unit. I wasn't sure I could be cool under pressure… especially as a marksman. And why had I not been to the range yet? I had not been given my opiate, the smell of burnt gunpowder, the slow, smooth pull of the trigger, and the push, barely registered, but so satisfying, of the rifle against my shoulder. I was a machine, sitting idle.

But today, that would change. I had been delivered orders to report to the armory, where I would meet my fellow in the Marksman Corps-ironically, the one, and the only, destined to be my mentor.

Traversing the stone halls was becoming second nature. The signage was adequate to route me from my usual haunts to the heart of the garrison-the place where well-oiled steel, and its spouse, the haft of wood, slumbered, away from the hands of the warriors. The weapons reflected softly the strangely sparse lighting of the rooms; it was dark in the halls of the armory, and not many lights had been strung about. I looked about the quiet, empty room, slowing to listen for signs of another person. I could find none so far, but I sensed there was someone nearby, but I could not tell where.

A nearly imperceptible noise. Perhaps it was that, but something made the hairs of my neck stand on end, and I knew that the person in the room was behind me. I pivoted.

There stood a short, lithe woman in her standard combat uniform that all Egrets shared. Clearly descended from the people across the Sea of the East (ironically west, for our nation) she stood in an assertive posture, evidently sizing me up. Her dark black and straight hair was held in a bun by the inclusion of two odd pins, somewhat like antennae, and bangs fell prominently from her hairline. Her arms were folded, mouth in an unmoving straight line.

"So you're the one they sent me." She seemed nonplussed, every ounce of her exuding a sort of cool, indifferent judgement. "You'll take some work." Evidently, I had met my mentor and comrade.

"Master Sergeant Juju. I don't care for ranks. Yes, that is my name. Come with me."

_Terse. I can deal with that. _A slight trace of a smile turned the corners of my lips.

The master sergeant led me deeper into the armory, towards some sounds of a person working, somewhere.

"You will decide on your weapons today, Adams. It is an important decision. Not one that is unchangeable, but in the short term, you have much practice ahead of you."

I nodded to myself. I would need to learn the new rifle, understand every quirk and know its operation like the back of my hand…

"After all, your commanding officer has requested a demonstration of your skills in three days."

_What?!_

I was to do something that took weeks of regular handling and hundreds of rounds in _three days _for the _princess regnant_, _my commanding officer._ Anxiety skyrocketed. I only hoped I would be able to avoid making a fool of myself, and being sent home, my country's eventual queen personally disappointed in me. I was left to my fears as we headed towards a source of sound; we rounded a corner to find a workroom, complete with a huge variety of important machinery.

"Well, Juju, I see you bring me a new face?"

An middle-aged man, in glasses, hunched over a workbench, with various parts of a weapon in front of him, looked up at me.

"Name's Brown. Val Brown." He lifted his hand towards me, an invitation to shake. I did so.

"Specialist Adams. Pardon my asking, but are you a civilian, sir?" His mannerisms struck me as distinctly non-military.

"That is correct," he said, standing up. "So, you need a rifle... um," He waved his hand in a "come on" gesture as he shuffled to wherever it was he was going.

"Alexander."

"Yes, Alexander. Come on, let's find you a weapon for the time being…"

Some perusing of the armory's store of range-capable weaponry had yielded a large number of various rifles, some domestic, some foreign; some complex, some plain. As the armorer had given me permission to handle anything I liked, I had viewed a few, but none had struck my particular fancy as of yet. Many of the weapons on the racks in these halls were modified, and some were like nothing else I had seen. Mr. Brown explained that many of these weapons were one-offs he or his father, a John Brown, had built. It was truly intriguing to see such strange and unique variations on the simple concept of a rifle.

I heard the man laugh to himself as he lifted what was evidently a very heavy weapon.

"Now, here's something you might like," he said, half-jokingly. "I've been saving it for someone in Marksman Corps, and you fit the bill. As tough of a lady Juju is, this just isn't her gun." He extended both arms, struggling to keep the rifle aloft.

I took it, and was also surprised at the weight. The thing must've weighed forty pounds, and, from looking at it, it was clear why.

The barrel was a colossal monolith, somewhere around thirty inches long, and with a very large bore and high thickness. At the butt of the weapon was the stock, a massive slab of wood, and on the muzzle, there was some strange device, but what interested (read: scared) me was that the bolt was twice as long as my old .30-06 back home. It seemed artillery could masquerade as a rifle.

"Goddess-damn, what goes in this thing?" I couldn't imagine what one would be trying to kill with such a weapon. Gigans, maybe?

The man smiled. "A special round of my father's. It's for a machine gun he designed" He produced a small box from behind the portion of the rack where this beast was slumbering, and opened it to reveal a ridiculous cartridge.

"The .50 Brown Machine Gun round. That ought to stop _whatever _you're told to bring down."

I was somewhat concerned by his use of _what_ever, but I was more concerned with the size of that damn cartridge. Like the bolt suggested, the thing was twice as long as the .30-06 I was used to, but probably held four times as much powder. I was really hoping this giant-killer didn't knock my shoulder off.

"You probably don't want to practice with this too much here in the city, cause the thing's big, loud, shoots far as hell, and despite that nice muzzle device, and the sheer weight of the weapon, your shoulder won't thank you for it. Save it for the ranges in No-Man's Land."

I was intrigued with the weapon, but was going to return it to its rack.

"No, keep it, learn it. Make sure to use it on your next range visit. If you don't want or like it, bring it back, but get accustomed to it. It will likely be your mission rifle. You never know what you're going to face in this unit, so it pays to bring the biggest."

Juju, who had slipped out while we were discussing this weapon, returned momentarily, wielding what was, evidently, her own.

"If you think that rifle is ridiculous, know that I use this for all of my missions."

Her rifle was, to say the least, enormous. The barrel was about _six feet long_. I didn't know how she moved it anywhere.

"Of course, this barrel screws together from three different segments, and I have to make sure they are torqued properly so that it is ready to fire, but nonetheless, do not expect an _effective _weapon to be an _orthodox _one."

This statement I endeavored to take to heart. Mr. Brown moved to find another rifle, apparently already knowing what he was looking for. I took the liberty of deploying the bipod on my monstrous new weapon, and laid it down on the table in the middle of the room. I was very glad to spy sling mounts on the weapon, and would definitely ask to be supplied with a sling.

Mr. Brown came to the table with another rifle, this one of considerably more sane dimensions than the previous one. It appeared a simple service rifle from the First Tripartite War-just like the one I used at home-albeit with a longer barrel than usual, and equipped with a rifle scope.

"This is an M1903 Springfield, but with a nicer match-grade barrel. This should serve you well enough for keeping your marksmanship skills up, and for showing off to Parasoul."

I ran over the weapon without thinking, all the ergonomics and functions of it being second nature to me. The man noticed, and decided he'd made the right choice.

"Well, now you just have to see if she shoots any different than yours at home."

"Thank you, sir," I said, believing myself finished.

"Now, for a sidearm…"

I reached for my omnipresent weapon, the one I always had on or near me. It was an heirloom, my grandfather's gun from when he bought and built the homestead that we now lived on. It was a bit bulky, and was certainly out of date, but I had absolute faith that it would get me out of any sticky situation.

"That won't be necessary, sir."

"An old Single Action Army? We have all manner of double-action revolvers and semi-automatics from across the globe, if you'd like to take a look."

I pondered it, but declined his offer. I felt that my old relic still had enough firepower and accuracy to contend with modern replacements, and I knew how it worked by heart. It would pay to have a familiar weapon in the heat of combat.

"Ah, well. To fit your other gear, then…"

* * *

Gloves, binoculars, a small backpack, new boots, a shovel, a crowbar, shin and knee guards, a special variant of the Egret helmet with an open face-akin, somewhat, to an old centurion's war helm, but equipped with a radio. All of these were given to me as mission equipment.

I was given leave to take the enormous .50 rifle and my new gear to my quarters. The weapon was now thankfully equipped with a sling, and though still heavy, carrying the weapon was a manageable task. I then returned to take the Springfield out to the range, lusting after an opportunity to do what I did best, and to finally get some release for all the anxiety that had built up over the past week…

It was a simple enough facility, the range. The walls were cinder block, the backstop an earthen embankment, about 200 meters out.

The crack of a rifle, the soft push of recoil, the smell of gunpowder, and the distant _pling_ of a metal target. All was well with the world.

"Good. It appears that your marksmanship on the range requires no attention. I will leave instruction to future exercises. I will take my leave."

These words of praise from Juju were ones I knew I should cherish, as the woman was no doubt prone to giving little to none. It was simply icing on the cake, as I was happy as a lark after finally being able to shoot again. I was consistently hitting the farthest targets on the range-only 200m, as this was an indoor range built into the manorial complex, and couldn't be outside or take up the entire castle grounds, but I still needed some more practice with this new rifle the make the bullseye at that distance. There would not be much wind interference at 200m anyway, but being inside meant it would be easier to land bullseye shots without having to compensate at all.

It would just take some more brass until I was dead on, and could really put on a show for the Princess.

But in the meantime… I needed to try out the big one.

Picking the damned thing up was a challenge in and of itself. It weighed five times as much as the other rifle. The bipod was deployed, so I set the weapon down on it. I didn't think this rifle was meant to be fired from a standing position-ever-simply because of its weight, and the terrifying size of the round, and did not intend to try it.

I opened the lens caps on the scope, and found a ballistics table, taped to the inside of the cap. Ignoring this momentarily, I looked into the scope to find a lot more dots than the scope for my Springfield had.

I looked at the ballistics table, which had ranges and MoA drop listed on it; perhaps the slip of paper was gibberish to those who did not know what a MoA was or how to use it when shooting, but for me, it may as well have been gold. Scrawled atop the nicely-typewritten chart and the "ZERO 100M" header as an afterthought, was the confirmation of "1 hash = 1 MoA"; I could, using this table, calculate exactly where I'd need to place my target in the scope to hit it.

First, however, I had to zero the rifle.

I aimed for the 100m target, as that was where I had to establish my zero for the chart to be relevant; a breath in, light touch of the trigger, breath out, pulling harder…

A colossal tongue of flame erupted from the muzzle, fanning out in 180 degrees horizontally. The beast roared with the sound of thunder, and heaved against my shoulder-slowed by its weight, but not at all without strength. The push was something awesome for a weapon of its size, but not disabling, unless one allowed the thunder and lightning of the weapon to dazzle them out of focus.

Left breathless from the first shot of the weapon, and taking a strong whiff of gunpowder, I pulled to lever to retrieve the target, to allow me to measure the corrections I needed to do, and prepared to do some math...

It was a nice couple of days. I had minimal duties to perform, and much of my time was my own. This was spent as command had intended it to be-at the range. It paid to keep shooting discipline in top shape at all times, as one could only guess at what or when our-the initiates'-first mission would be. The armorer had said something about No Man's Land; perhaps there would be some exercises run out there before we joined the experienced soldiers for a real mission.

I felt calm, relaxed. The princess was nice enough to give us a day for her visit, but the time was something unscheduled. I was, in fact, just setting up to take a few more shots to make sure I was at one hundred percent.

I sat down, chambered a round, got situated, and took the shot. I emptied the magazine making sure I was hitting the far targets dead center, and began loading it again. I appreciated the remarkably clear optic this rifle had, as it made it unnecessary to go check the targets by hand.

When I closed the bolt, I heard the door open to my right. I looked up to see, once again, the princess, with her umbrella. I knew little of the Renoir's umbrellas, but it would take an idiot to say they were just cloth to keep the rain off.

"Good afternoon, Alexander."

She was as stately and regal as ever, and moved to stand near my shoulder. I thought it a strange thing that she remembered my name, but as the only inductee into the Marksman Corps it wasn't too odd.

"Good afternoon, Princess," I replied, wanting to be more formal than I was.

"For all intents and purposes, I'm not here. As you were."

One could never truly be as they were with someone hovering over them and observing their handiwork, especially when that person was the most powerful in the nation, but nonetheless, I did my best to behave as if she wasn't there.

_Just like always. Focus on the target, breathe in… breathe out…_

The report of the rifle was answered by the _ping_ of the backstop. Inspection told me that the 100m target was hit dead center. Some of the tension eased, knowing I could still perform well under… _some _pressure.

I proceeded to fire at the 125m, the 150m, the 175m, and the 200, all with the same satisfactory result.

"Excellent work. Your fundamentals are definitely solid." Parasoul had picked up the binoculars from the shooting bench and checked the targets.

"Thank you, Your-Ma'am."

"Parasoul is fine, young man. You'll be shipping out with the rest of the combat inductees for some exercises in No Man's Land. Pack your things, we're headed out at 0800 hours tomorrow. We meet in the conference room-be there by 0745."

"Yes, ma'am." I stood and saluted. She ignored my use of the honorific. I was glad, as it didn't seem natural to refer to her as anything less formal.

"For today and tomorrow, you are given leave to do as you wish, and to leave the base. Dismissed."

She turned on heel and left the small range stall. I didn't know how to feel about that encounter, but I picked up my rifle, brass, and ammunition, and started to head for the armory.

After speaking to Val Brown again, and being told to keep this rifle in my possession as well, I had returned to my quarters to store it and prepare to go on leave. I figured today was a good a day as any to procure some minimal furnishings for my dwelling, as well as purchase some goods for the icebox. I wondered if it would be a poor decision, since Canopolis was the capital and home of the royal family and castle, but I figured that New Meridian was an important city, and the Princess spent as much time here as she did in Canopolis. From what I could gather, the Egrets were a small enough unit to have its members actually have their own quarters in both cities as well, making it a safe bet that filling some of the empty space in mine was not a foolish endeavor.

After some wandering, a few awkward questions to passersby, and a fairly long amount of time, I was able to find a store and procure some cheap furnishings-namely, a sofa and a coffee table. I mostly did this for the sake of filling the living space in my "apartment" and giving me a place to sit and perhaps do some work, or eat. Getting the thing _to _said place was a chore, involving paying the store workers to move it to the gates of the castle, and giving a fellow soldier a few bucks to help me move it the rest of the way. It was, perhaps, not a terribly important thing to tell you, but it did end up giving my "home" a place to actually gather in, and an extra place to sleep.

I wondered what to do the next day-I had no real business to take care of. Perhaps it would be a good day to simply go out and see the city?

* * *

Go out and see the city was exactly what I did.

Using the visitor's guide and map that I had acquired from the information kiosk the first day, I endeavored to find some interesting places in the city. After some debate I decided to go down to Little Innsmouth, figuring it would be an interesting place to see some different culture and people from what I was used to.

Fortunately, Innsmouth was not terribly far from the city center, as the waterfront was the heart of the town. A tram ride would suffice to reach it. I headed through the streets of the city, more empty than they should have been, the clear skies and gentle breeze making the day all the more enjoyable. The wait at the stop wasn't long, and there weren't too many people there.

Stepping into the tram from the station put me, once again, in a huddle of people. This was not something I liked before, and I did not like it now. I felt my uniform would draw attention, but strangely, not many people looked my way. I was looking through the crowd, scanning, surveying again. There were all sorts on this tram, but a disproportionate number were ferals. There was also a disproportionate number exiting the car, compared to those entering. It wasn't hard to sense that this jewel of a town was decaying, its lifeblood-the citizens-leaving.

There wasn't much to be said or done about that, though, and I took the opportunity to watch and observe the unique people of the town. I hadn't seen many ferals in my life, and it was truly interesting to see how they varied in their respective species, just like my fellow humans. There were Dagonians of all shapes and sizes, their smooth skin contrasting with their barbels, fins, and spikes, and cat-ferals, with all sorts of whiskers, ears, coats, and more. I made sure not to examine any of them too closely for fear of catching their eyes-staring was never appreciated.

While doing all of this looking, a certain color pallet caught my eye; I wasn't sure what it was, but it was familiar. I stood up from my seat, and uneasily made my way through the crowd. Like decent people, the passengers parted best they could, but the proximity to and brushing of others was inevitable and uncomfortable.

Breaking through the crowd to the other side of the car, I saw the familiar figure in the corner, evidently having just sat down. A girl, a too-small school uniform, thigh-high leggings, blackish-violet hair, red eyes.

"Filia?" I said, quietly, attempting to get her attention. I succeeded; the girl looked up, eyes opening wide at her name. Her hair-or Samson, as it was-moved momentarily into an alert-looking state, likely at the pair's mutual surprise, before becoming limp again.

"Alex?" she said, abridging my name. "Um… hi." She stood awkwardly, arms crossed, looking away. It was plain enough why this chance meeting was uncomfortable for her-she had run off at our last one, in a flurry of emotion. "Uh, sorry for, you know… running off."

"It's… fine… but, what was that about?" I asked, as sensitively as I could manage. She sighed slowly before looking up and answering.

"Let's find someplace private, and we can talk about it." I answered with a simple "okay" before deciding to stand near her, leaning against the wall. I began surveying the people again, and occasionally glanced out the window, checking our progress towards the next stop. There was no conversation on the trip, and I was content with the state of affairs...

The tram doors opened at the stop in Little Innsmouth. As we had functionally formed a party of two, I made sure to stick near Filia and prevent our separation. I didn't really know where I was going down here, and I doubt she did either, so the plan was to stick to the main streets in sight of the tram line. I looked at the buildings around us; they were truly a fascinating synergy between the stately Canopian architecture and the colorful, gaudy decorations that I could assume were of Dagonian design. Ramshackle wooden walkways crisscrossed the upper and middle levels of the buildings, and wires strung with what appeared to be jellyfish hung in between them. A water line marked the lower portion of the area, everything below it covered in moss and graffiti; I wondered what became of this area at high tide. People walked through this apparently tidal zone, and there were buildings in use down there. Clearly, it would be underwater; did Dagonians live in the water?

I cut my musings short, and, ensuring Filia was with me, began to wander towards one of the walkways for a wider view of the area. This community had a charm to it; it was unique, and quirky, something that couldn't be experienced in many other places. At the railing, I got a good view of the surroundings, their fusion of cultures evident in the people and architecture around. I smelled something that couldn't help but taste good; behind me was a restaurant that looked popular. I was getting hungry, and I figured this was a stellar opportunity to try some new cuisine.

The place was not something one would describe as "high class"-far from it-but it had a certain charm, the same one that permeated this community-the bustle of people and the smell of the kitchen had a homely atmosphere. The two of us took seats in the corner table. Filia, who seemed uneasy, took a breath, likely in preparation of an explanation.

"So… there's not to much to tell, I guess. One day, I woke up, and I didn't know who or where I was, but Samson was there. The two of us have been doing what we need to to stay alive... and… um..." She looked over her shoulder, scanning the shop; I don't know why she seemed so on-edge.

"I don't feel comfortable talking about this here. We'll find someplace private."

Just then, two men muscled their way into the shop, through the groups of people that were socializing out front. Immediately, their rude mannerisms rubbed me the wrong way.

Nicely dressed, they took a seat, ignoring the foul glances and grumbling. It was clear they felt they were entitled to something more than anyone and everyone else, and that didn't sit right with me any more than it did the rest of these people. One of them looked terribly familiar, and I wasn't sure why, until...

Filia and I exchanged glances. She was outraged; I was tense.

The same man who had tried to run his hands all over the girl the other night was one of the pair that had come into the restaurant. We attempted to keep ourselves out of sight, to avoid confrontation.

In the meantime, a young Dagonian woman-a waitress, no doubt-came to our table. She wore an apron, and an odd, but very unique sort of blouse; it appeared to be made of a soft, scale-like material, and I was not entirely sure if it was clothing or a part of her body. Perhaps one of the most striking things about her, however, was the fin-like structure on her head. It appeared to have its roots in the hairlike flaps of what seemed to be rubbery skin, like that of a dolphin, or the like. What was clearly identifiable as skin, though, was a soft blue color, and her figure was quite curved; it was one a man could admire-despite himself or not-if he was Dagonian or otherwise. The girl smiled warmly as she approached us.

"Hello, and welcome to the Dak'kuul Dubu! Here are your menus. What would you like to drink?"

After examining the girl, I wasn't really paying attention to her, and was more focused on these two men in the room. There was a reason someone hadn't dealt with them yet, and it was bound to be anything but willing inaction. I'm not particularly sure of what was ordered, but the Dagonian went off to get it. I was eavesdropping.

"_Ya hear the news? The Skullgirl's been going after all those families in Maplecrest…"_

"_Looks like this new Skullgirl's got a bone to pick with the boss. Where has he gone, anyway? Think the rumours of him gettin' sick are true?"_

The second one murmurred something unintelligible to his colleague. I was trying to stomach the revelation their words brought. _There is a Skullgirl again? And nearby?!_ The puzzle pieces started to shift and fall into place. The packed train, the overflowing depot, the empty streets, the decrepit buildings…

My train of thought was interrupted by the jolting of the men's table by the bigger of the two, slamming his palm on it and rattling whatever was on top of the table. "Hey, girlie, can we get some service over here?"

The Dagonian girl was passing by, and it was clearly her they were addressing. _What do you want with her? _I wondered. My little sister, from all the way back home, was giving me a bad older-brother complex.

"Yes? May I help you, sir?"

The same disgusting man from the other night tried to hit on this poor girl as well.

"Hey now… you're quite the dish. I'd like to eat YOU up."

My blood was boiling, but this time I didn't have the opportunity to stop him again. It would be far too coincidental that all parties to the incident at the soda fountain were all here, and, more importantly, it would draw attention to Filia.

"Now, how about you swim over and fetch me and my buddy here a couple free drinks, and then we hit the town?"

The full house was already starting to empty out into the street. I don't know what organization these two men belonged to, but it was certainly influential, as people apparently wanted no part in anything that would be occurring here.

"I… I'm sorry, but I need to work." _That's not gonna get you out of this one, girl._

The other man piped up. "You know… you are pretty cute… for a stinkin' gill-girl."

It didn't take a bright mind to recognize a racial slur when it came out, and if the men's previous antics didn't have people fuming at them, this one definitely did. I was sorely tempted to do _something._ Patience, however, paid off.

A young cat-woman bumped into the back of the server girl. She dropped her tray, and it clattered to the ground. The woman appeared a strong, athletic type, and wore a getup that revealed a lot of, well, _fur._ She had some brutal, wide scars on her limbs-ones that seemed strange for a woman whose complexion gave away her relative youth. They seemed like something that a large, deep wound would produce, and it struck me as odd that she had so many on her, and yet was so toned and strong. She had her hands firmly on her hips, and it was plain she was restraining herself from doing something violent. By this point, me and Filia were one of the few remaining people in this restaurant.

"Is everything okay over here? Are these guys bugging you, Minette?"

"Go find yourself a sandbox, kitty. We're just havin' a friendly chat with the little minnow here."

It was clear that her patience had absolutely run out. "Leave now, or I'll throw you out myself."

"Can't you take a clue, you flea-bitten tart!? Clearly you don't know who you're messing with."

The man reached for something, and I started to react automatically. I reached inside of my uniform, the chest buttons in their usual undone position, making the reach for my revolver a quick one. As my hand pulled the gun from its holster, however, my heart sank-as I cocked the hammer, I knew I was already too late. The man had pulled a long blade from a sheath, and already swung. A sickening noise squelched across the room as the machete cleaved the cat-woman's head clean off her shoulders. As her lifeless body crumpled to the ground, the two men gloated.

"Ha! Did you see that? That stupid cat didn't stand a chance."

All my finger wanted at this point, perched on the side of the frame, was to drop down and contract. The muzzle was already pointed at the murderer. All I had to do was let that finger do its job.

But, again, patience paid off.

In the most bizarre moment of my entire life, I saw the head of the woman rocket up off the ground-propelled by _blood_-and viciously bite her "killer's" arm. Meanwhile, her body scrambled to its feet and delivered a jaw-shattering punch to his fellow thug's jaw.

The two men were off like a rocket. "Never mind her, we found what we were looking for! Let's get back and tell Vitale!"

I made note of the name as best I could in the shock of the moment. The woman's body was now standing triumphantly, her head tucked under her arm like a ball. Minette looked on, enamoured of her hero.

"You OK, Minette? They didn't hurt you, did they?"

"That was... AMAZING! What would I do without you?"

I exhaled heavily as the cat-feral was replacing her head, and, having lowered my weapon, decocked it, pulling the trigger whilst holding the hammer.

Normally, this wouldn't have been a problem, but it happened right in the lull of the conversation, and there was no noise from other patrons or the kitchen to mask it.

The next thing I knew, a disembodied hand had been thrown at me, grabbing my weapon as it passed, and shortly thereafter, I had her other hand, attached to her body, at my throat, claw making pressure against the skin. I threw my hands up, not wanting to look as if I would retaliate. Before she or I could say anything, however, my previously-silent acquaintance(s) decided to act. Samson had had enough waiting, the now-rising girl's hat hitting the ceiling as her parasite unfurled into a more alert form.

"No, no! He was going to stop the thugs!" Filia supplied this information in a panicky manner, attempting to stop anything else from happening. The woman kept her claws close, while remaining wary of anything I might try. "Check the hammer, the noise was me uncocking it."

Again, the hand appeared to be propelled by a jet of blood as it flew upwards to meet the cat's arm. I noticed the scars again, and how her hand had separated at one of these.

She checked the weapon, ensuring it was as I said it was, before stepping back and looking the pair (trio?) of us over.

"Hmph. A cat, a fish, a schoolgirl, a parasite, and a soldier. This is stranger than any joke I've heard." The humorous expression provided a relaxing alternative to the flustering events of the past minute. Her fierce expression changed to a grin as she handed my weapon back to me. I checked it over to ensure it hadn't been damaged and was safe to store in the holster again.

A squat, wide-set Dagonian man appeared from from the kitchen. "Nadia, you've run them off! Your next meal is on me!" he exclaimed, jubilantly. His joyful expression fell as he saw that Filia and I were here as well.

"Oh. Hello, Samson," he said, in a flat tone. It wasn't friendly, but it wasn't hostile. "Hey, Yu-Wan," he replied. Apparently the two knew each other. "It seems you have a new host?"

"I don't want to talk about it," he said, actually sounding depressed. _What happened to the last host he'd had? Who were they?_

Yu-Wan looked at Filia and I, who were exchanging glances over what Samson had said.

"My apologies for ruining your date, young man and woman. Your order is on the house."

The two of us were now embarrassed. Filia blushed and seemed amused; I was going to make sure he knew we were friends. We answered with different forms of "we're not together" before giving our thanks. As I thought about it, it made sense that he thought we were a couple, as neither of us were wearing casual clothes, we were young, and only a party of two. Although, wearing military and school uniforms somewhat nullified those and gave it a weird, somewhat creepy dynamic.

Nadia piped up, with some important business. "For the record, none of this ever happened. _Right?_"

"Right," we answered together. "Who were those people?" I ventured to ask.

"Medici mafia goons. Think they own the town. To be fair, their boss kinda does."

_The Medici?_ They were a prominent family; everyone knew about them. My dad didn't like them, called them crooks. It would make sense that they'd be running something under a guise. "Useful information," I said, simply.

"How did you get those scars?" They were all over her, and thick.

"You had a front-row seat," she answered, grinning. Her incisors popped out of the corners of her smile. I had to take a moment to process what she'd said.

"All of your limbs were cut off in multiple places? How do you live through all this?"

"I thought you knew? Cats have nine lives." It was a witty quip, and she knew it.

"But you have eleven scars," I responded literally, a thin smile signalling that I wasn't an idiot. She cracked a smile despite herself

"Oh, alright, you win this one, but a girl's gotta have some secrets, you know."

Minette came back over to the table now, lightly tapping Nadia's shoulder. "Excuse me," she said very softly, blushing. The feral stepped out of the way, letting Minette pass, who sheepishly said, "Um, well, here are your drinks…"

A couple "thank-you's" from us two. Before Nadia left, she bade us goodbye-with a couple of puns, to show she wasn't beaten. "Alright, maybe I'll see you kitts around. But for your sake, purrretend you don't know me."

The second sentence concerned me, but I let it pass; the Medici would likely take very poorly to people who associated with her, and that was probably what she was referring to...

After a nice lunch, I had already seen enough strange happenings in one day to last me several years, if not more. When we had left the restaurant, Filia had decided that it would be best to speak about whatever it was she needed to in an alleyway. It appeared deserted, and that was exactly what we wanted.

"Alright… you know about the Skull Heart and everything, right?"

This was a topic I had done some study on, when I was younger. It was interesting… and terrifying. Queen Renoir, the wish for peace, and the end of the Great War due to everyone trying to stop her. The Skullheart seemed a malicious object-any wish would be perverted in a terrible way, and the woman who wished on it, doomed to be an instrument of destruction. I feared what business this girl had with it.

"Well… I thought if I could get it, I could wish for my memories back."

"Filia. To do that, you would have to find and destroy the current Skullgirl. Do you remember how the Great War ended? The biggest armies in the world all had to stop and cooperate to take down Queen Renoir. That's _millions_ upon _millions_ of soldiers, and there's tens of thousands of square miles of obliterated cities and countryside where everyone fought."

"Not every Skullgirl is as powerful as Renoir was. She was so strong _because of _her wish."

Things were falling into place as I tried to talk her out of her terrible idea.

"Do you see what's going on in New Meridian? Everyone's leaving. Everyone is leaving because they know there's a Skullgirl in town. If you think they're overreacting, why haven't the Medicis taken her down yet? They'd be cutting into their racketeering profits and such. And why did Lorenzo disappear from the spotlight? Those mafia guys said that him being sick was only a _rumor_. What if it's because he's trying to make sure he's safe from the Skullgirl? And let's not forget how many dead and buried are in and around New Meridian. That's scores and scores of bodies for her to muster up at any given time. And even if you beat her somehow, do you think the Skullheart would deem the wish pure? People have wished for more selfless things and still been transformed..."

I didn't need to say all of that. I really shouldn't have. Filia was in tears and her hands were balling into fists. I tried to turn it around and console her, but I had already gone too far. Her voice was choked and angry.

"The Heart doesn't choose whether the _wish_ is pure or not, it judges you on your _heart!_ Am I not pure enough to wish for my own memories back? Is that what you think?"

"No-I-Filia, I'm sorr-"

"I don't need you to approve! I don't need you at all!"

At this, she ran off, sobbing aloud. I stood still for a moment, not moving from the spot, and I could feel my heart starting to tear me apart for what I'd done, intentional or not. _You bastard. You just broke her one dream. She's just a girl. And all she wanted was to know who she was._

This was similar to the other instance I had with the girl running off, but this time, it was my fault, and I wasn't going to just shrug it off. I set off after her, picking up the pace so as to not lose her.

I did my best to follow the already surprisingly distant sobs and loud, running footsteps. I followed the noise for a couple blocks, through droves of people. Unfortunately, being a rather tall fellow in an (externally) good emotional state has a disadvantage when muscling through crowds as compared to a crying teenage girl.

And, unfortunately, tracking skills don't work when hunting people who've walked on concrete. I did my best, however, to try and get into the girl's mindset. If I were angry and sad and running off, but didn't know where I was, where would I go?

Someplace to be alone, of course. But that could be anywhere. I hoped she had the sense to stay near the tram line, because otherwise, she would get lost herself. Our meeting was pure chance, on that trolley car-it would be much harder to find someone who was actively attempting to evade me...

It would be a long day.

* * *

A cold, hard eye watched the proceedings in the streets below. The loud noises and unusual behavior in the nearby restaurant had attracted its bearer, and so too had the hushed words of "Skullgirl" and "Skullheart" uttered in the alleyway.

_There's that amnesiac girl again. But who is this with her?_

Whoever he was, he was belting off reasons why the girl's plan was bad. The argument seemed fair and well-reasoned, but most of the watcher's attention was focused on the person, not the conversation.

_Hm. Young, appears healthy. Military-wait, __**Egret**__. __**Very**_ _young for an Egret. That's good, he must be in very good shape... What is it we have here?_

The girl cried out something sentimental and bolted. The male didn't react for a moment, but then, a little while later, set off after the female.

_This one could be a good candidate…_

The moon was visible in the sky, above the buildings. It was going to be a truly poor decision to stay out on her trail any longer. It would be in my best interest to return to the tram line and ride back to base.

_All you're going to do tomorrow is board another train to take you somewhere a good ways away. This girl, on the other hand, you may never see again if you don't keep after her._

I deferred from better judgement. And what a wonderful thing, my luck was this day.

After another quarter to half an hour was spent in fruitless search before a rough, almost inhuman scream rang out.

"_**FIL-I-AAAAAA!"**_

A deaf idiot could hear where that one came from. I set off after the scream. As I got closer, I heard grunts, yells, splashes, and the very scary sound of an electric saw. Something bad was going on, to say the least. I slowed down a moment, and made sure to prepare my weapon again.

To my great fortune, the sounds of the battle were coming from near where we had eaten that afternoon. That meant I had a good idea of where to go to be strategically positioned.

Ascending one of the ramshackle stairways to the rickety wooden walkway, I traversed its length until it took me around the corner, in what was almost line of sight of the battle. I found myself directly above the entrance to the restaurant we were at earlier that day, and I dropped to prone position near the edge of the railing.

I observed, on the wooden bridge, Samson and Filia in combat with a distorted, ruined figure of a person, making all manner of hideous growling, screaming noises.

The creature had a massive set of blades on its back that it was using to propel itself into the air, and attempt to attack with. It appeared to be connected to its body by a flexible device attached to its spine-possibly, its spine. The twisted body was able to form spikes out of seemingly nowhere, protruding disgustingly, and somehow nonlethally. Fortunately, Filia's lithe, small body allowed her to dart out of the way of the attacks. In a heartstopping moment where the blades did touch her, they didn't appear to cut viciously or deep, as one would normally expect. Perhaps Samson's commensalism was more like mutualism?

At this time, I also learned that Samson was able to manipulate his shape and the position of his teeth. In a strange harmony, Filia's attempted blows were hugely augmented by Samson's aggressive shapeshifting, and these sent their assailant flying. The girl and her "hair" were performing so well in the melee that I didn't even have to intervene.

The creature stopped attacking, falling to the ground in a crumpled heap after the last and most brutal series of strikes by Samson. His gruff voice produced the first words that were spoken after the encounter.

"_Hurry, Filia, let's get out of here before that thing wakes up!"_

She didn't move. "_Samson… who was I? Why does this poor girl know me?"_

Disgust rippled through my stomach. _That disfigured creature is a human girl? _I wanted to vomit. How could someone do something so sickening to a little girl? A little girl was the only thing it could be, at her size.

"_I, er… don't know. It's clearly insane-I wouldn't worry about it…"_

The poor creature stirred again.

"_Damn it, she's getting up! We need to get out of here!"_

I sprung into action, getting prepared to help the girl against the weakened threat, whether the help was necessary or not. I vaulted over the railing, and dropped to the lower platform. The boards creaked on my landing, alerting everyone to my presence, but that didn't matter; I rushed across a nearby bridge and jumped a part of the now-flooded lower section of this area to reach another pathway that connected to the bridge Filia was on.

The "girl" had made her way to a slouching standing posture.

"F-Filia, it's me… Carol!"

"_Carol?"_

_WHAT?_

I was almost to Filia's side when the disfigured girl managed these words. I was completely stunned that the two apparently knew each other.

"Carol? Is that really you?"

For some reason, the girl got up and began to vacate the premises.

"WAIT, CAROL! DON'T GO!"

I had reached Filia now, and again, I put my weapon away.

"She's gone."

More tears. She fell to her knees, this time, not sobbing, just silent. I did the only thing I could-I knelt down as well, and put my arm around her shoulders. She was hot, sweaty, from the fight, but made no move to try and depose my limb, so I took this as a good sign. I did, however, receive quite a glare from Samson-and a quick slap on the head from a tendril-that told me everything I needed to know. I had to make up for what I'd done, somehow. Hopefully trying to console the girl was a step in the right direction.

When the tears subsided, I took the dangerous first step in suggesting a course of action.

"Filia, come on. We've got to get back to the city. I'll give you some money to stay someplace for the night…"

_She _actually didn't have to be back in the city center, but I would feel more comfortable if I knew she was in a less… _sketchy_ part of town.

I got a meek "ok" in response. A trolley was just coming down the line to the stop, which was now just above the waterline. I helped the girl up and kept my arm around her back on the way to the tram.

* * *

It was late, when I got back to the base. Filia had stuck with me until I had reached the base gates, until she took off. I was glad that she wasn't terribly angry with me; I really dodged a bullet there. It probably helped that she was, again, in emotional distress when I saw her again, and helped to console her. I took the opportunity to apologize early on, and she seemed to take it very well. I wondered how I could make her so enraged and distressed, and then have her be perfectly alright with me again. Maybe it was just that she was sad over the events of the evening-it was clear that she wasn't her normal self even when I left her that night, but who could blame her? The day was completely insane.

In any case, now that I was back in my quarters, I made sure that my weapon and combat gear were ready for me to equip and utilize tomorrow. That night was one of both anticipation, and exhaustion. What would we be doing out in No Man's Land? _Exercises, _as everyone said, was not a precise term, and could mean any number of things.

I tried not to worry myself about it, using a nice shower to calm down and prepare for sleep...


	4. Chapter 4

Exhausted.

That word summarized my condition. It was 0200 when I finally got back to base, and probably 0300 by the time I fell asleep. I had slept fitfully, and woke up at the standard time of 0600 that morning. In the time since I had shambled down to mess, as it was far easier than attempting to do anything in my quarters, and then carried my equipment down to the conference room. I was apparently the first one to arrive, so I took the opportunity to snatch a little sleep…

Two loud pulses of sound startled me out of my sleep. Immediately, my panic-stricken brain demanded a situation report, and it received one; my ear had been on the table, which had evidently been knocked on. "Up, princess," commanded an all-too familiar voice.

I stood up as fast as my sleep-soaked limbs would allow, saluting sharply. Of all people to wake me up with an "up, princess," I did not expect, or enjoy, that it happened to be the _actual_ princess. Fortunately I was not utterly embarrassed, as only a few Egrets were actually in the room, and a brief moment of eye contact communicated that my CO seemed merely amused.

It was 0715 of the 0745 deadline; the rest of the unit that was shipping out would be here eventually. My shock-fueled wakefulness had nothing to focus itself upon. Other measures had to be taken to ensure my readiness. In an attempt to occupy myself, I turned my thoughts to the previous day-easy enough, though my hazy mind took awhile to clear.

The image of the girl Carol-doubtless a normal girl before whatever terrible twist of fate had befallen her-was still burned into my mind. Her small form, penetrated with long metal spikes, some nails, some appearing spontaneously from beneath her skin. The massive blades on the spine-like protrusion from her back, her sickeningly varicose veins. It was a child, beneath it all-just a child, like Filia. _Who had mutilated her like that...and did she attack Filia? _It didn't make sense that the girl would attack her friend, then try to talk to her, before promptly running off.

There was a very unsettling sense that was something sinister going on in this town, and it involved more than just the Skullgirl. Though… perhaps she was the epicenter. If one looked for trouble in the city and did not do so with the Medici or with domestic criminalia, it was likely to lead back to her. Or, at least, that was my hypothesis, spawned by a barely-conscious mind. I didn't intend to test this concept, but it was an interesting theory. Time was spent attempting to flesh it out, give it more substance than a mere hunch.

As the clock ticked down to the last few minutes before our departure, I wondered about the location of my mentor. It would only be natural for her to travel with us, seeing as she was my instructor. This gnawed at me until I finally worked up the courage to ask the princess; she responded with a surprising statement. "Juju has told me that you are to take on this mission alone. She apparently feels you are ready for the exercise without any further instruction."

I didn't know what we would be doing, but it puzzled me that she would not be present for what should be a training exercise...

* * *

I had managed to snag some extra sleep on the thankfully quiet ride, enough to make up for my escapade the previous night. There had been a couple of train changes on the way out to No Man's Land, primarily because almost nobody _went_ there other than the military-for good reason. The place was generally known for being a lawless hellhole, and I had no idea what we would be doing out there.

We did, eventually, reach the farthest portion of the rail lines that were operable. Conveniently, the great Fort Vigilance-the biggest of the old frontline wartime bases-was within a stone's throw of the station, making it clear why the lines were maintained out to this point.

We disembarked from the train and collected our equipment once again before making our way to the station's exit. All eyes were focused on the expanse that lay before us.

There was a small town here. Well, to be precise, it was a large town with many clearly abandoned buildings. Much of the municipality still showed its wartime wounds; it was clear many inhabitants had moved away before or during the war… _or maybe they all died._ The thought sent a shiver up my spine; I knew far too many good people who had lost their loved ones in the Grand War. Veterans were no doubt discussing their memory of this place; I looked down the much too empty roads, trying to imagine what this place was like before the war.

Not long, was it, until we had to depart that almost contagiously sad place to continue our journey. A short march led us to the gates of the old base that watched over the empty shell of a town.

It was built in the old style of gunpowder fortresses-a star fort, with thick, high walls. Modern artillery and machine guns peeked through the cannon ports. This place was sure to be a bloodbath in the event of an assault, but the great hope of the world was that the series of grueling, man-eating wars was finally over, and thus, that such an assault would never commence.

The modernized gates-slabs of solid steel-were sealed, for some reason, and did not open as we approached.

"What seems to be the holdup, gentlemen?" called the crown princess. Someone-likely the gate operator-replied, voice echoing off the walls from the bullhorn at the gate.

"Sorry, Your Highness, but we'll need some further identification. Strange things happen out here."

Parasoul seemed mildly annoyed. The princess swung her heavy umbrella in an upward arc from the ground, with a command of "Cry!" A blob of yellow-orange substance was emitted from the device, flying into the sky above. In a fine example of what one could consider trick shooting, our young princess drew her Luger and shot the streak of fluid, which promptly exploded into flames.

_A living weapon, huh?_ I had heard of such things, but did not know if they were real, or simply weapons that had been passed down for so long that they'd become legends in and of themselves. It did explain why the woman toted the large, heavy thing about with her; she didn't seem the type to carry something as frivolous as an umbrella to serve as a mere status symbol.

"I believe that should prove all the identification you need," she stated. At this, the gates opened. Waves of chuckling passed through our party, veteran and initiate alike. We were going to secure transport vehicles from the depot, mess, and then leave for the Egret base out in the wastes themselves. Simple.

It was strange, how the rest of the Canopian military looked at the Egrets. Everyone knew they were there, but acted like they weren't supposed to talk with us-stolen glances, murmuring when we passed, and the like. Some of them asked what we were out here to do, and a few of the vets made up some clearly sarcastic tall tales. It seemed the general consensus, however, is that we were a group that did "real secret-squirrel shit," as a fellow soldier back in Basic had memorably stated. _I_ didn't really know what we did (yet), but that was probably a fair enough assumption, simply _because _they-and I-didn't know.

Regardless, after all the preparations had been made, we loaded into the trucks and left as quickly as we came. _Hurry up… where's the wait?_ The small size of the Egrets, and the fact that we had _the _monarch at our head, probably helped. It was hard to instate the normal bulletproof-but-slow bureaucracy the military operated on when the kingdom's ruler was prodding you to hurry up. _Perks of being special forces, _I thought, suppressing laughter.

The wastes, which the trucks had now pulled us into, were a surreal place, and it was clear when we had entered them. The only foliage on the scene was yellow, sickly-looking grasses and charred trees, and the dominant signs of human habitation were abandoned and decimated villages, empty fields, and mounds capped with markers-mass graves. If the town we'd left behind was a depressing place, it was hard to define this one.

When we had arrived at our command post-an old industrial building on a hill above a deserted city, littered with prefab fortifications-I knew how to define the landscape, and what it made me feel. The adjective _disgusting _was the only appropriate term. The atrocities that had befallen this place hit way too close to home; I realized that this could have easily been _my _homeland. Merely envisioning the parallel made me sick; the rugged beauty of our ranch could have become this barely-surviving, deathly ill landscape. From what I had heard, some people actually still lived in this part of the world, but their lives consisted mostly of attempting to survive in the almost entirely barren, bandit-infested hell. That could have been me and my family. I was glad that the rulers of the foreign empires had enough sense to preserve the admittedly shaky peace that had come of the Skullgirl's desolation; nobody deserved to live here, not after it had become… _this._

I turned my attention back to the task at hand, breaking out of my awful reverie. This outpost was manned, evidently, as there were some regular Canopian Army soldiers about the place; upon asking, they informed me that this place was considered part of the responsibility of Fort Vigilance, although it operated its own, independent facilities. We unloaded once more, carrying our equipment to a more familiar, and thus, more spartan, barracks. Many of the recruits groaned, but the veterans had expected it; I was glad that we had beds, and weren't _living_ out here.

This old shell of a building, this industrial complex, was a strange and unique place to establish an outpost, especially in these days of prefabrication, but it made sense; it was large, and structurally sound, as well as providing a defensible location with its multiple levels. Base headquarters was evidently in the old control room, which had been repurposed with the necessary equipment to act as such. A large warehouse served as a vehicle depot, where we stopped and stowed the trucks. The heart of this place was another armory, which was essentially the entire reason this place was staffed when it was not running active operations. Bandits, slavers, and all sorts of other outlaws would love to get their hands on the equipment here.

Evidently, we were going to prepare for whatever operation command had dreamed up. We-the Assault, Demolition, and Marksman (i.e. me) corps-were instructed to put on all of our battle gear, and then report to the armory to secure our munitions and mission specific gear. Just from looking at the Assault and Demo guys' packs, I was glad I wasn't in their units. Once we got to the armory, and I saw that the Assault Corps were being issued heavy ballistic vests, I was _really _glad I wasn't in their unit.

I, now wearing all of my equipment assigned to me previously, was given 3 trip mines, the same number of grenades, and a soft-sided pack of ammunition for my rifle that probably weighed 25 pounds; I was told that these were already loaded into 5-round clips, so I was spared the pain of individually loading them. With some time and searching, I was also given 64 individual cartridges of .45 Long in a pouch. All of this I strapped to my belt-the rifle ammunition at the front, to avoid being lopsided in terms of weight. I appreciated the efforts of whoever managed Egret logistics-the high variability of weapons and ammunition between people in the unit was bound to be a massive pain in the ass to handle.

Now, having been organized into our respective teams, we looked like segments of a pyramid-Assault was the largest team, naturally, since they were supposed to be the spearhead of any infantry movement in our unit. As such, the Medical Corps-which was actually a corps, yes-ended up with most of their men in Assault, with the remainder in Demo. The large red crosses on white circles on their helmets and armor helped them stand out amongst the crowd. Demo seemed disproportionately large for a standard infantry mission-I wondered if we would be destroying something. We, as an urban unit specialized in supporting the Princess, did not have a cavalry division, despite operating multiple vehicles-that role would be handled by a supporting unit in any future mission. However, this was evidently not required, as there were no other groups around.

We all funneled into a neighboring room-likely an old conference room-and the princess took her place in front of us all. A projector and screen were set up in the front of the room, but it was not currently on; thus began our briefing.

The princess' crystal clear speaking voice echoed off of the concrete walls of the room. "Gentlemen, we are all prepared for our upcoming operation. This mission has been devised by the initiates in Command Corps and overseen by the regulars. Also, the squad leaders in this exercise will all be inititates. I expect you to perform admirably; however, in the case that the squad agrees that are not prepared to lead, I have designated backup squad leaders in conference with our veteran members. Is this clear?"

Various affirmatives responded to her question.

"Good. Now, I assume you all know that this area is rife with bandits?"

A majority answer of "yes" and the like.

"There are some locals in these towns who have been struggling with raids. We, the military, are the only enforcers of the law out here, and the thieves in this area are not pickpockets-they are organized militant groups who routinely extort the remaining civilians in the area, doing all manner of evil. We have located and scouted one of these bands' headquarters. Today, we will destroy that headquarters, and hopefully, crumble the organization."

She paused for a moment, and let the ripples of surprise at our first "exercise" being a live-fire combat operation pass through the unit. It would also be a night operation, apparently, as it was already 1900, and the sun was already beginning to fade when we arrived.

"The stronghold is estimated to have a dozen men on guard, and at least six dozen in reserve. However, we will hit this base while they are on patrol and raiding for supplies, which will deflate the number of hostiles in the area, and we will attack under cover of darkness. If everything proceeds as planned, the unit will not be discovered until Demolition has breached the building, and the enemy will not be alerted until our marksman has fired his first shot."

Eyes turned towards me, naturally. I tried my best to shrug them off. Our CO turned on the projector on the table next to her. It came to life, the rolling tape putting forth a map of the complex we would be assaulting.

"This is a map created from intel our scouts have gathered. Your initial approach to the complex will be hidden from view by the surrounding bluffs; you will disembark just out of sight of the facility, and then continue on foot.

As you can see, the eastern third of the complex is composed of their vehicle depot. Planting explosives on their fuel tanks will be an important part of the operation, as it will help ensure the total collapse of the facility at best, and will destroy their on-hand supplies of fuel and seriously damage their transportation network at worst. The brigands have also _considerately_ felled the wall of the building on this side, making an assault of the depot easier to plan, and leaving them exposed to sniper fire. Our unit now is 37 strong, and composed of 6 members of Demolition Corps, 1 of Marksman Corps, 6 of Medical Corps, and 24 of Assault Corps. A squad of 6 assault troops, 2 demolition specialists, and 2 medics are to be assigned the task of assaulting the depot, and will be supported by our marksman during their mission. Once the charges have been planted, they will radio in and inform command and their fellow squads of the completion of their objective.

As for the remaining men-18 assault, 4 demolition, and 4 medics-your task is to breach the western wall of the complex, and destroy the command post and arsenal inside the facility. Overwatch will not be able to support you inside, and the layout of the building is a mystery, so please be on maximum alert. We don't need any Egret blood spilled on this Goddess-forsaken ground.

In any case, once your charges are planted in the armory and command center, exfiltrate to a safe distance and hit the dirt. Have the demolition crew detonate all the charges at once. Overwatch should neutralize all hostiles preventing your safe departure by the time you're ready to leave the building, but squad leaders, please ask for confirmation. If you receive an all-clear, overwatch will be able to cover your retreat from any new threats that present themselves. The moon will be full tonight, so our marksman should have no difficulty identifying his targets."

Her regularly-panning focus turned directly to me.

"As for your positioning, Specialist Adams, you will find an old town hall about 800 meters southeast of the facility, in an abandoned village. The bell tower should give you an adequate view of the facility and surrounding area."

The golden eyes departed again, shifting to engage the crowd again.

"And another thing-these bandits are known to take slaves. If you find any inside the facility, make sure to get them out safely. We don't need innocent blood on our hands. Also, any information you can find regarding where these slaves are being sent, or if the bandits are receiving aid from a sponsor, will be invaluable.

Any questions?"

Everyone had studied the plans and took them to heart. I was glad to hear that the moon would be bright tonight; it would make my job much easier.

"Good." The projector reel had been changed, and it now displayed the squads everyone was to be organized in. "Find your squad, and hit 'em hard."

* * *

The squads were organized, loaded, ready, in their trucks. I was given my own vehicle-a motorcycle-to move independent from them. Such a vehicle was not one I was readily experienced with-a horse or automobile would have been better-but one I could manage, given the two-minute crash course provided by the grease monkey who'd supplied it.

Everyone was provided with the map that showed our route to the facility, and we were ready; tension was high, like a coiled spring. All we were waiting for was the go-ahead from command.

The radio in my helmet crackled to life. "Alpha, Bravo, Charlie, this is Command; the operation is a go.I say again, you are cleared to go, out."

"Alright, we're Oscar Mike, over and out," replied a familiar voice. As it turned out, the Alpha squad leader-and thus, the mission commander-was Sgt. Maj. Hawkins.

I released the clutch on the bike, and was underway.

I didn't quite know what to feel, as I left the base for the first combat I was to see. There was some anticipation, sure, but that was about it. Under the blanket of the moon and stars, we were off to destroy a bandit lair; there was a mission, and I had a part in it. It was just a job…

The motorcycle rolled into the abandoned township, up to the front of the old town hall.

I dismounted, and walked the vehicle into the doors. In the case that someone came through here, I didn't want my location to be too obvious. I looked for the door that would lead me to the bell tower; it wasn't hard, since I only had to find the door that led to a room beneath it. Some quick searching found me a plausible door, but it was locked. _It's a good thing this building is old, and that I have this crowbar._

Breaking open the door was not a hard task, since the frame was so weak; all I had to do was slip the straight end of the bar in between the door and the frame, and use the leverage to bust the lock and/or frame. I figured the "proper technique" would be something I'd learn to do on stouter stuff with practice, but the frame and lock busted just fine on this old door.

Once on the staircase, inside, I considered laying a mine, but the staircase felt so flimsy, that I figured I was liable to destroy the structure I was housed in if the device went off; besides, if anyone came in here, I would, A, be able to hear them, and B, be in a shitload of trouble.

Reaching the bell tower was simple enough, and gave me a wide view of the area. I laid down on the wooden floor, and opened the bolt on my rifle, retrieved a clip from my pouch, pushed the rounds in, and held the cartridges down as I extracted the clip.

It was surreal, how much like any normal day this was-despite the enormous rifle and incredible cartridges.

I closed the bolt, and flipped down the bipod's legs. The behemoth of a gun was ready… and so was I.

I pressed a key on my helmet. "This is Delta. In position, over."

"Roger that, Delta, this is Alpha, we're en route to our rally points, out."

"This is Bravo, we are also en route, out."

I took out my binoculars, and took a closer look at the target building. The map had been accurate; it appeared as it said it would. I began counting targets.

_One, two, three guarding the shop…_

These men were armed with old, rusty submachine guns of various design, probably from the Grand War. They wore some kind of metal plating on their bodies as armor, but it didn't look thick enough to do anything significant.

_one on the southern wall of the building…_

_...four on the roof._

These rooftop men had rifles; it was too far away to tell what kind. The four of them were posted on the corners of the roof, looking for threats. I needed to neutralize them first; they could see our men over what cover they had on the ground.

It must have been a skeleton crew indeed, because there were not many enemies here-only 8 on guard. I looked over it all again, making sure I hadn't missed anyone.

"This is Delta, we have 8 tangoes on guard; three on the east entrance, one on the south wall, all with submachine guns, and four on top, armed with rifles, over."

"This is Alpha; roger that, Delta, out."

I figured now was a good time to start figuring out where I'd have to aim to hit them. If they are at 800 meters… that's… _twenty_ hashes…

"Alpha, this is Bravo; who is hitting the guards at the front of the depot? We're almost in position and we can take them out at the first shot from Delta, over."

"Delta, that's your call, over." By now we knew who we were talking to by their voices, so saying our designations before speaking was becoming redundant.

The first stirrings of anxiety began to rise up in my chest. As much as I'd assured myself that I was capable of performing my mission, and as much as I had taken to heart the rationale of my role, I was not immune to the uncertainty that would come with downing my first target.

The mission at hand took priority over whatever personal aversions I had, naturally. The cool, comforting citadel of detached, rational thought was my psychological home as I contemplated my course of action. Downing the men at the door would be suboptimal; as Bravo leader had said, the men on the ground with their automatics could make very short work of them in a moment's notice. These fellows on the roof seemed much more of an issue…

"Roger, Alpha. I'm thinkin' I should hit the boys on the roof first so there ain't any nasty surprises. Just hang tight, over."

"Wilco, Delta" from Hawkins. "Roger," came the reply from Bravo.

_The NCO's really do put everything on the E-4's._ I snickered to myself, before quickly sobering again. I was in the driver's seat now, and my first shot would christen the mission in blood. I was an operative, not a commander…

"Ops, how copy? Over."

"Loud and clear, Delta, continue as discussed, out," a familiar voice answered. It was that of the woman from the train. _Communications, she is._ _Well, there's nothing for it, then._

Ever so slowly, in a smooth motion, I lined up the correct hash in the scope with the first target-the man on the southeast corner of the building. The protests of my more humanistic side reached a head, but they had no place interfering with my rationality, or with this mission. _This scope has a hell of a zoom..._

The man's face was scarred, his cruel eyes and jagged grimace a strange thing to observe. Those scars on his countenance were doubtless caused by his profession of terrorizing the downtrodden people of this hellacious place. He would feel no remorse for killing anyone, leastwise my comrades, and the fact that he would fire upon my allies sealed his fate. That was my job, after all-to protect and cover my brothers in arms. This was but a dead man walking.

Slow breaths, one after another, to calm my speeding heart, my tense muscles; the passage of time, the filling and emptying of my lungs dispelled the physical symptoms of my unease. All that was left was a cool, loose, barely breathing instrument, primed and ready for orders. The target sat in beneath the crosshairs, in the precalculated point of impact. My finger slid downwards from the wood above the trigger, slowly moving to embrace the cold, curved metal of the trigger.

_Deep breath in…_

A very gentle application of pressure to my right index, compressing the tissue against the kill switch. It would grow with the next exhalation, until it exceeded the pressure threshold for the trigger.

_Let it go, slowly, slowly…_

The night was torn by lightning and thunder. Wood and glass rattled, shaken by the concussive force of the round. It was good that the muzzle break funneled the light away from the aperture of the scope, and that my left eye was closed, or I would not have been able to monitor the result of that shot. It was a second later when the hole in the man's chest appeared, and a red mist jetted out of his back as he crumpled to the ground. He was dead before he heard the shot.

My heart was racing, a cold, unsettling thrill rushing through my veins; not one of pleasure, something more… carnal, cold, impersonal; I was a predator, and I had made my kill… but I was going back for more. The bolt slid smooth as silk, back, forth, and closed again. A huge, hot casing dropped to the floor, smoking slightly.

"One tango confirmed down, out," I said, as I took deep, slow breaths again to relax my body and mind.

The others on the roof were reacting, now-wildly. They didn't know what to do; an invisible assailant had slain their comrade, and they had no idea where he was-the roar of the rifle gave but a vague direction. They dropped to the ground in a vain attempt to shelter themselves from another deadly comet.

The second one, now. I was glad these men all looked like they had done much evil in their life; I was but a soft rookie, and perhaps it was like they said about _other things_-you never forget your first.

This shot was going to be more difficult; I didn't have a standing target. I had confidence, however; the previous shot had struck the man in his torso, my target, so the aim was true...

_In…_

_Out…_

Another flash and roar. I waited a moment, and then head of the man lolled forward, lifeless.

"That's two, over," I said, shivering.

"Alright, no need to brag, bud. Out." Hawkins chastised me, humorously.

_For him, and for the veterans… this is just another op. _I realized that this was only really profound for me, the only one who hadn't seen combat, and a sniper, at that.

_But now…_

I cycled the bolt again, more deliberately. Another ejected bit of brass rolled away.

_In... out…_

Flash, boom. _That's three. _I didn't feel.

A quicker chambering.

_In, and out._

The wonderful smell of gunpowder. _Four._

_Killing you is easy… and it's just business._

"Delta here, all four tangoes on the roof are confirmed dead. Proceed, over."

"Wilco, Delta, out" and "Will comply, out" were my answers, and the sound of automatic gunfire greeted me seconds later.

The rest of that mission could be summarized by the important bits of the radio chatter and the sounds of muffled gunfire. The operation was a total success; not a single casualty on our side…

"Ops, we've found a filing cabinet here, we're taking it all, out."

"Detonating charges in 3, 2, 1…"

An orgy of flame, shockwaves, and heat, and the collapse of the facility.

"Alright, that's it, proceed to exfil, out."

I netted two more kills before the day was up-both tangos trying to hit our boys on retreat.

I grabbed the bike, pulled it out of the town hall, and went on my merry way, back to base.

That was it. Nothing more.

I was struggling to come to grips with how… _mundane _it was. A shot fired, just like almost every day of my life since I was a boy, but this time, there happened to be baddies on the receiving end instead of a piece of paper, or wood, or whatever. It was just a job… an interesting one, because of the challenge of making the shot, but a job nonetheless.

An exercise, they had called it. I saw why, now.

This unit was _made _for the bizarre, the unusual, the unknown, the impossible. It wasn't made for taking care of common criminal rabble. And all of this… all of this was so much more profound… because Juju wasn't here. She knew that. She knew that I would know it…

Parasoul met us at base. "Excellent work, gentlemen. You can handle yourself well, as leaders and subordinates. But these bandits were just rabble. When we go out on a real mission, I can assure you, it will not be so simple, nor so predictable. No armbands today, but you've proven you have the skills necessary to operate as part of this unit. Tonight will be spent in the barracks here, but we will depart tomorrow at 0900. You are to unload your weapons and return any unspent ammunition and equipment to the armory, and Alpha is to give those documents to HQ. That's all."

It really was, all there was to say.

* * *

_Hey everyone. Just wanted to tell you all, yeah, I am still working on this. I actually have all the way up to the end of Chapter 8 drafted but I'm making sure it's all how I want it, and ensuring it's all nice and well-groomed. They are fully-fledged chapters as they are, but they aren't what I'd allow myself to submit yet. Anyway, hope you all enjoy this chapter, even though it's kinda short._

_PS for the guest reviewers: just so you guys know, I can't really respond to you if you ask me questions! I can't PM you an answer because I don't have an account to send a message to. I'd have to respond to y'all in the author's notes for the next completed chapter._

_Warm wishes to everybody._


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